🏹 Simon's holidays
Part 1: Dilemma
⚠️ This is a work of fiction
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"Simon, come down, please."
Dad is calling me from the ground floor of the house, and he's annoying when he does that. If he wants to talk to me, he can come upstairs. I decide not to respond, to act as if I didn't hear him. It hasn't even been an hour since I got back from school, and I just want to be alone.
"Simon!"
Once again, I decide not to respond and put my headphones in my ears. This way, if he comes up to my room, I'll have an excuse for not having heard him.
As I lay on my bed with my headphones in, I see the door suddenly swing open.
"You could answer when I call you!" my dad says, clearly a little irritated.
"I didn't hear you," I say as I take off my headphones. "I was listening to music."
These past six months have been a bit complicated for both of us. Mom died of pancreatic cancer. Everything happened fairly quickly between her diagnosis and her death, in less than a year, she was gone.
My name is Simon, I'm 11 years old, and I'm an only child. Before, we were a typical family and had great moments together. Since mom's death, nothing is the same. Dad is always on my case, asking if I've done my homework, telling me to go wash up, waking me up early, even on the weekends. I really miss Mom. Besides, Dad might have found a job recently. He stopped working to take care of Mom and remained unemployed for a few months after her death.
Dad seems a bit upset, and I'm not sure what he wants to tell me. Is it to say that his interview didn't go well?
"Like I mentioned, I had an interview today. I just got back from their place. It's not very close, and the trip took me about 45 minutes, but I like the job they're offering, and I'm going to say yes."
I'm glad. If Dad works again, he'll be away from home more often, especially if it's far. At least he won't be home when I get back from school, so I can play video games. He's strict about it; he always wants me to do my homework first, and he doesn't want me to play for more than 30 minutes a day.
"That's great," I say without really explaining why I'm so happy.
"I am happy, yes. It will be good for me to get out of the house and see people again. You know, Simon, we've talked about this before, and I know these past months haven't been easy for you, but they haven't been easy for me either."
I know that all too well, yes! It has affected both of us, even though we didn't experience it the same way. We weren't necessarily very close before Mom's death, and it hasn't improved afterward. We only talk when it's absolutely necessary, and we don't share much with each other.
"It's almost the holidays," he continues, "they're coming up really fast. It's Monday, and they start on Saturday."
Oh, yes, I had almost forgotten about the holidays. That's great; I'll be home alone for a week. I'll be able to sleep in, eat whenever I want, and play as much video games as I please.
"I know you wouldn't mind staying home alone, but I don't want it to go that way." "Why? Don't you trust me?" "It's not really a matter of trust," he says, "but more about safety and lifestyle. I can imagine how it would go; I wasn't born yesterday, I was young once too." "Ah, so because you didn't follow your parents' rules when you were my age, you think I won't either?" "Simon, don't take me for a fool either. We both know how it would go. Anyway, that's not the point of this conversation; I don't want you to stay home alone."
I'm disappointed by what my dad is telling me. I could have had some peace, but it seems I won't.
"So, where am I going, then?" "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I see two possible solutions. The deadline is very short, and these are the only options I have."
I wonder what my dad is going to propose, and I'm somewhat anxious. I'm really afraid that I won't like what he's going to say.
"I haven't called them yet to see if it's possible, but the first option is to go to your grandparents." "You mean grandpa and grandma?" "Don't call them that; you know they don't like it. But yes, I'm talking about your mom's parents." "The answer is a straight 'no,' I absolutely do not want to go there. The last time didn't go very well."
The summer before, I had gone to stay with them for the holidays. I had never been there alone, and my parents had told me it would be great. Well, it was far from great. I wasn't allowed to do anything; they were stricter than my parents. I even asked my parents if I could come back early. I was bored like I'd never been before! On the second day, we had a big argument, and I stayed locked in my room, not wanting to come out.
On the day of departure, I didn't even say goodbye to them, and Mom was quite angry with me. I'll never set foot there again.
"I knew you'd say that," he replied. "The second option I have is the leisure center."
"But leisure centers are for little kids. You go there when you're in primary school, not when you're in middle school!"
"I'm almost certain it's not a matter of academic level but rather an age-related issue. I believe they can accommodate children from 3 to 12 years old. I inquired about it three years ago, and that's what I was told."
"But Dad, none of my friends go to such places!"
"You can make new friends there! Or even suggest that your friends sign up too."
What a bummer this leisure center thing is! I might end up with little kids, doing little kid activities.
"What's your decision, Simon?" Dad asks me.
"Well, I don't really have a choice. I'll go to the center."
"I just hope they have space. I'll call right away. And if they don't, you'll go to your grandparents'."
Dad then leaves my room, and I hear him go down the stairs. I also step out of my room and head to the landing, so I can eavesdrop on the conversation. From where I am, I can see him, but he can't see me. He taps on his phone for a few seconds, probably looking for the phone number, and then he puts his smartphone on speaker.
"Youth Service, Constance speaking."
Dad then explains the purpose of his call.
"I won't hide from you that it's going to be very complicated," the lady explains. "We already have a lot of reservations. I'll check the various leisure centers in the community. Can you remind me of your son's age?"
"He's 11 years old."
A few seconds pass before the lady responds again.
"In this category, I'm afraid we don't have any available spots left in any of the centers. I'm really sorry. Unless... let me take a few more seconds to check..."
"Yes, please tell me."
"After checking, I have one spot left in the Marots leisure center, but it's reserved for children with disabilities."
Dad doesn't respond immediately; it's as if he's thinking about what to say. I'm not disabled, so he can't answer yes; it would be immediately noticeable.
"I didn't want to bring this up to avoid highlighting it," my dad says, "but my son has issues with incontinence. Does that classify him as a child with a disability?"
I can't believe my ears! Dad is saying that I'm handicapped? That can't be true. Besides, I don't even know what "incontinent" means.
"Yes, of course," the lady responds. "That's perfect, then. We need to fill out a form as soon as possible to secure the date. When can you come?" "Wednesday afternoon, is that possible for you?" "I have a slot available at 2 PM." "Very well, I'll take that slot then. I'm Mr. Mitonno." "I've noted that in my calendar. Please take notes; I'll give you a list of the documents you'll need to bring: vaccination certificate, family record book, tax statement, proof of address, and a doctor's certificate stating that your child is disabled." "I've written it all down. Thank you. See you on Wednesday. Thank you, ma'am, and have a good day."
As soon as Dad hung up, I went back to my room. I don't want to show Dad that I overheard the conversation, and I prefer to wait for him to come to me. What I did catch, though, is that he'll need a medical certificate, and that's bound to be a problem. What doctor would be willing to provide a false certificate? Certainly not our doctor; Dad really doesn't like him, and I can't imagine him asking for that.
As soon as I closed the door, I grabbed my phone and typed the word "incontinent" into the search bar. Fortunately, the autocomplete feature helped me find the correct spelling. I started the search and found the definition.
I read the first result: "Lacking restraint or moderation," and I didn't really understand the meaning; it can't be that. I read the second definition: "Unable to control the discharge of feces or urine," with an example sentence: "An incontinent child."
My throat tightens. Is my dad trying to send me to a leisure center by making me out to be someone who wets or soils themselves? No, it can't be possible; he can't do that! I really can't believe what I just heard.
Shortly after, while I'm still lost in my thoughts, Dad enters my room. My throat has been tight since I overheard the conversation.
"I found a spot," Dad says without saying more.
"Where is it?" I ask.
"In a leisure center, very close by, actually."
"And was there space?"
"Yes, we have an appointment on Wednesday afternoon to complete your registration."
Dad doesn't seem to want to address the question that has been on my mind for a while. I'm not sure how to make him talk about it without telling him that I overheard the conversation. How does he think it's going to work if I'm at the center and I don't have the disability he told them about?
He does seem to hesitate, and I think he's afraid to talk to me about it, especially about my reaction.
"It's just that..."
"That what?" I ask impatiently, eager to see how he's going to broach the subject.
"I told them that you have a disability, that you have accidents... or more precisely, urinarya leaks."
"But that's not true! I'm not incontinent!"
As soon as I blurt out that word, I know that Dad understands that I overheard his conversation with the lady.
"You eavesdropped on my phone call, didn't you?"
"Yes, I listened, and it's ridiculous! You're willing to lie to get me to go to that leisure center."
"Simon, I did it for your sake! So you wouldn't have to go to your grandparents."
I can't believe he's saying he did it for me!
"But wait, if you tell them that I wet myself, and they see that I don't, they'll realize you lied to them. And how are you going to get the medical certificate? You're not going to do it yourself, I assume?"
"I'll take care of the certificate. I think I can manage to get one. As for the accidents, you'll have to actually have them, or they'll figure it out, yes, you're right."
"So you expect me to wet myself in broad daylight in front of everyone? In front of adults, but also kids? They'll make fun of me, I'll be the laughingstock of everyone. There's no way I'm doing that!"
I'm angry, and I think my tone of voice makes it clear to my dad.
"That's why I thought about the solution of wearing protections..."
"What is that?" I ask, annoyed.
"They're also called diapers."
"I'm not sure I understand what you're telling me. Let me rephrase: you want me to wear diapers like babies, is that it? I'm 11, Dad! I'm too old for that."
"Yes, that's exactly it, you understood perfectly."
"Even if I did, and I emphasize the word 'if,' the others would make fun of me! Can you imagine a boy my age in diapers?"
"You know, this condition actually exists. There are really people your age, and even older, who suffer from it and wear protection to make it inconspicuous. Because, yes, wearing a diaper is not visible. No one sees what's under people's clothes."
"I'll follow your thought," I say. "Let's assume I wear one, and it's not visible. If I don't pee in it, the leisure center staff will also realize it's fake, and they'll kick me out."
"That's why you'll have to play the role of an incontinent boy. If they ever catch on that we made a fool of them, they'll terminate the contract, and you'll be forced to go to your grandparents."
Dad is really putting me in a tough spot. He wants me to lie, to make a fool of myself by wearing diapers and wetting them. I can't accept that.
"I can't even believe you're asking me this; it's out of the question." "So, do you prefer to go to your grandparents?" "I don't prefer anything. I can't accept either of your two propositions." "And if I offered to buy you the new gaming console you've been asking for for over a year, would that help you decide?"
Dad is trying to buy me, offering me a deal! I really want that PS5. I've been bugging him for months to get it, and he always says it's too expensive.
"So, if I go to my grandparents, you'll buy me a console to take with me?" "No, of course not. If I offer to buy the console, it's for the option of the leisure center. Sending you to your grandparents would cost me money, and I don't have much right now. The leisure center option is much less costly, and the difference could cover the purchase of your console."
It's a tough dilemma. In essence, either I go to my grandparents and don't get my new console, or I go to this leisure center for five days and get a console.
"Okay, I'll go to the center!" "Be careful; let's be clear about this. You will need to genuinely appear as a child with incontinence until the end of the week. I'd even say until your 12th birthday and you're no longer eligible for a leisure center." "What do you mean?" "If, during other holidays, you can't go to your grandparents either, you'll have to return to that leisure center, and they must have no doubts that you faked your incontinence issues."
Oh yeah, so it's not just five days, after all... But we'll see about that when the time comes.
"And will I be allowed to play for more than 30 minutes a day?" "Don't push your luck; we'll see when the time comes. Just succeed in what I'm proposing first, and we'll decide." "The deal works for me; I accept."
As my dad says, no one but the center staff should see my diaper hidden under my clothes. And even if a 5-year-old did see it, why would they tell anyone? Plus, I can probably go to the bathroom discreetly. What bothers me the most is having to wet my diaper at least once a day. But if that's all it takes to get a new console, I'm willing to make that sacrifice!
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